


Concern

by oninoshirosaki



Series: Love Is... [18]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oninoshirosaki/pseuds/oninoshirosaki





	Concern

The first thing you notice is his hair.

Powder white like cocaine, long enough to sit on, or - in _this_ case - sweep the ground. 

Still, it's not the hue of his mane nor its impressive length that catches your attention. It's simply the fact that - seated as he is on a bench in the subway station, hunched over with his head in his hands, hair falling thick and heavy like a theater curtain - you can't see his face.

What's strange is that you realize you _want_ to.

You have no idea if he's waiting for a train or if he's just gotten off one. He sure as shit isn't making a move to board the one _you've_ just alighted. Maybe he didn't hear it pull in. Maybe he's contemplating throwing himself onto the tracks. His posture is indicative of one who is either depressed or ill. Maybe both.

Yet, you feel compelled to approach him - yes, _him,_ because even from where you still stand some ten feet away on this platform, you _know_ he's a man; despite the fact that he's got legs lean enough to fit into a slender lady's jeans (you're not so sexist as to think that long hair is a female's right alone) - like a desperate man drawn to a tempting desert mirage.

So your polished leather shoes promptly carry you in his direction, and you find yourself sitting beside him on the cold stone bench, touching him gently on the shoulder. Maybe it's not the wisest thing to so simply make tactile contact with a complete stranger, but you've never really _cared_ about that sort of thing. "Hey. Are you alright?"

The man startles, turns to stare at you with wide, surprised gray eyes. Beneath those slate irises are half-moons dark enough to look like someone drew on him as a prank. His pale, angular face bears obvious signs of stress and frustration, his bony shoulders are tensed, like a tightly coiled spring that's about to snap. When he speaks, his voice sounds hoarse, like he's been screaming at something too long. "What - "

You cock your head in the direction of the train which isn't there anymore. "You looked upset. I just wanted to see if you were okay."

His mouth parts - looking like he's about to say something - and then he swiftly shuts it, teeth worrying his lower lip. He shakes his head - more like he's trying to clear it, than in any real denial. "No, I - " He abruptly cuts himself off, brushes some of the hair from his face with long, thin fingers. "I'm just having a bad day."

You rub your thumb against the vertical scar on your chin - a bad habit born out of boredom, like biting your nails - and offer him your most charming smile. "Y'know... there's a place about a block from here which serves the _best_ milk tea."

Those dark eyes now bear shades of curiosity, as if he's wondering what _tea_ has to do with this conversation.

Your smile grows wider. "Their lychee green tea always makes me feel better on a bad day." You tilt your head sideways. "So. You wanna?"

He stares at you for a long moment - _measuringly_ \- as if you'd just spoken to him in Serbo-Croatian instead of Japanese. And then, he sits up a little straighter. _"Grapefruit."_

You can't help blinking on reflex. "What?"

He stands up, long hair rustling with the movement. "I like grapefruit."

The laugh bubbles up easily from your throat, and you can't halt the Cheshire grin that's rapidly crawling across your visage. "They have that too."

You walk out of the station by his side, automatically slinging your arm around his shoulders. 

Surprisingly, he doesn't pull away.


End file.
